


Crazy Little Thing Called Love

by Haydenn11



Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I didn't think this would be smut, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Smut, Song: Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Songfic, The Author Regrets Nothing, but then it was, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29058690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haydenn11/pseuds/Haydenn11
Summary: 9. Crazy Little Thing Called LoveCrowley had been harboring a word deep in his chest since Eden, biting it back every time it rose unbidden to his tongue. He had been finding other ways to say it for millennia, but had never felt free to name it out loud. He was sure sometimes that Aziraphale felt the same. He thought he had seen the word on the angel’s lips more than once, had seen him biting it back just as Crowley did. Surely they could say it now.“Angel,” Crowley started, seized by a mad desire to speak the words out loud.“Yes, dear?”Crowley choked up. Part of him hadn’t been expecting to be acknowledged. “Oh, uh, I was just wondering…”He was suddenly horrified by what he had been wondering. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t come out and just say something like that after six thousand years of not saying it! Was he crazy? Aziraphale might discorporate from shock, or worse, reject him. He had thought he knew Aziraphale’s mind, but suddenly his head was too filled with echoes of Friends? Were not friends!, I don’t even like you!, There is no ‘our side’, It’s over!, and You go too fast for me, Crowley, to be entirely sure.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069535
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	Crazy Little Thing Called Love

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Explicit Sex Scene  
> If that's not your deal, don't worry, it's marked so you can skip it, you will still get the full story without it. 
> 
> As promised, fluffy fluff. It took me forever to write this because A. This has been a week (two weeks?) straight from Hell, complete with bad lighting and demotivational posters. And B. It ended up much longer than I anticipated it being. It also ended up smutty, and seasonally appropriate given that it's almost February. I didn't set out to write seasonally appropriate smut, but who am I to deny the journey my writing takes me on. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, comments and feedback are very much welcomed and appreciated.

[ Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zO6D_BAuYCI&ab_channel=QueenOfficial)

* * *

The world was shiny and new, and simultaneously, as ancient as it had been the day before it didn’t end. It was as the old adage said: The more things change, the more they stay the same. This was certainly true for an angel and demon who had migrated from their table at the Ritz to the backroom of an old bookshop, taking full advantage of the opportunity to keep drinking and toasting the world they helped save. 

It was there in the backroom that the demon, Crowley, was finally hit with the realization that he wasn’t Hell’s agent anymore. He had said it earlier, known it intellectually, but he was on Azirphale’s couch, idling tracing the rim of his wine glass and listening to the angel prattle on about the merits of Oscar Wilde when he began to fully comprehend the gravity of what they had done. They had thwarted Heaven and Hell. They had tendered their resignations in the more dramatic way possible and lived to tell the tale. For the first time in six thousand years, for the first time ever, Crowley was truly free to do what he pleased. He had no orders to follow, no head office to report to, and no reason to look over his shoulder whenever he was with the angel. 

Crowey gazed at Aziraphale fondly, slipping off his dark glasses to get a proper look. His angel was comparing Wilde’s prose to his poetry and discussing which he preferred without any inclination that his audience was only half listening. The golden glow of the lamp behind him made a halo of his white-blond curls. 

Crowley’s heart fluttered wildly. This was allowed. For the first time we could sit here and gaze adoringly at his angel and no divine or demonic powers could stop him. He didn’t have to sneak out or make up an excuse for why he had been here, not that he had ever been asked for one. He and Aziraphale could just be together for as long as they both wanted. It was allowed. That knowledge was a more effective intoxicant than the wine had been and Crowley was giddy on it. 

Surly, he reasoned, if this was allowed, then the rest of it would be too. The rest of it being all the unspoken feelings that had remained… well,  _ unspoken _ , for six thousand years. Crowley had been harboring a word deep in his chest since Eden, biting it back every time it rose unbidden to his tongue. He had been finding other ways to say it for millennia, but had never felt free to name it out loud. He was sure sometimes that Aziraphale felt the same. He thought he had seen the word on the angel’s lips more than once, had seen him biting it back just as Crowley did. Surely they could say it now. 

“Of course Dorian Grey is a masterpiece, but I always thought–”

“Angel,” Crowley started, seized by a mad desire to speak the words out loud. 

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale looked disoriented by the sudden interruption of his lecture. 

Crowley choked up. Part of him hadn’t been expecting to be acknowledged. “Oh, uh, I was just wondering…”

He was suddenly horrified by what he had been wondering. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t come out and just say something like that after six thousand years of not saying it! Was he crazy? Aziraphale might discorporate from shock, or worse, reject him. He had thought he knew Aziraphale’s mind, but suddenly his head was too filled with echoes of  _ Friends? Were not friends!, I don’t even like you! _ , There _ is no ‘our side’ _ ,  _ It’s over! _ , and  _ You go too fast for me, Crowley _ , to be entirely sure. 

“Wondering?” Aziraphale prompted. 

Crowley panicked. “Ngk. Um, I was just wondering… wondering how you felt about Wilde’s plays? I recall you saying you went to see several in the 1890’s, while I was asleep.”

Aziraphale looked guilty and Crowley wasn’t sure why. “Ah. Yes. I did.”

A pause hung heavy in the air. The atmosphere had changed and Crowley felt like the air was cloying and stifling. He took a sip of wine hoping it would relieve the feeling. It didn’t. 

“I should have liked to see them with you.” Aziraphale said in a whisper so slight that Crowley almost didn’t catch it. Aziraphale fidgeted with the stem of his wine glass and didn’t look up as he added, “I missed you.”

“I was only sleeping, angel. You could have woken me up if you were bored.” Crowley said it with the air of someone trying to keep the tone light and failing. 

Aziraphale shot him a small smile. “Perhaps, I could have. I thought about it, but I didn’t think it would be welcome after the way we left things.”

“Right.” Crowley didn’t really know what to say to that. The memory of their fight in St. James’s Park still haunted him. He had missed Aziraphale too, of course, that was the whole reason for the nap, after all, but he truthfully didn’t know how he would have reacted if Aziraphale had tried to wake him up. He wasn’t sure he would have been ready to hear an apology, not that the angel had offered one even after they made up. 

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale said as if he’d read Crowley’s mind. Crowley’s eyes went impossibly wide, the yellow of his irises taking over completely. “I think you know that, but I should have said it. I was so very sorry for everything I said that day, and for everything I said the other day at the bandstand. My dear, I’m so very sorry.”

The word rose up inside Crowley like a balloon. It expanded until he thought he would have no choice but to say, lest he explode or float away, but he bit it back at the last second like he had done so many times before. He swallowed it down and forced the word to shrink back to it’s usual size. He wasn’t ready. It was a little thing, but it felt crazy, completely insane, to say it out loud. At least for right now. Eventually he’d get around to it, but right now he couldn’t handle the thought. 

Aware that Aziraphale was waiting for some kind of response, he said, “I’d forgive you, but there was never anything to forgive.”

Aziraphale beamed. 

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale were strolling next to the lake in St. James’s Park on a sunny afternoon three months after the world didn’t end. They had been to see a play the night before, Hamlet had been playing at the West End. Aziraphale discussed it happily while Crowley tossed handfuls of birdseed toward the water for the ducks. 

“I thought this Hamlet was quite good. Certainly very convincing.” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley murmured a noncommittal noise and tossed his birdseed toward a particularly large clump of ducks. 

By silent agreement they came to a stop along the bank and stood side by side watching the ducks. Crowley was enjoying himself. He had been enjoying himself ever since he came down to Earth after his brief foray into heaven. Ever since then he and Aziraphale had been nearly inseparable. 

Crowley tried to keep his distance at first, he was wary of scaring the Angel off by going too fast. But, Aziraphale seemed to want Crowley’s company as much as Crowley wanted his. He asked Crowley to join him for plays and dinners and walks in the park at least once a week. He asked him to the bookshop or popped by his apartment most days and had taken to calling on the few days they didn’t see each other. Crowley was reveling in it. 

“Oh dearest, look!” Aziraphle pointed with one hand and grabbed Crowley’s arm with the other. “It looks like you.”

He was pointing at a black swan with a bright red beak, but Crowley barely registered this. His attention was too focused on the hand on his forearm.

“And it looks so  _ sweet _ .” 

The tone with which Aziraphale said the word sweet told Crowley he was looking for some kind of reaction to it. But Crowley couldn’t remember what reaction was supposed to be because he was still too distracted by the hand on his arm. He was reduced to nodding and making another one of his noncommittal, not-quite-English noises. 

Aziraphale and he almost never touched, it had been a long standing rule between them. On the rare occasions they did touch, they never prolonged that contact as Aziraphale was doing now. The hand on his arm slid down his sleeve to his hand and entwined its fingers with his. It was warm, strong, and indescribably comforting. 

Crowley thought he might discorporate. He felt as though he had swallowed a jellyfish, and now it was wriggling and stinging inside of him. But the feeling was no aquatic animal, rather a word waking from its hiding place in his chest and dancing it’s way up his throat to his tongue. It stayed there for a moment, vibrating with pure joy as it prepared to high dive off his teeth and out into the open air. 

Crowley bit his tongue, trapping the word there. He could still feel it, struggling to break free, and he bit down a little harder. He wasn’t ready. It wasn’t the right time. Prolonged physical contact did not mean that Crowley should start pouring his deepest confessions into the chilly autumn air. 

Aziraphale gave his hand a little squeeze. “You’re quiet today, dearest.”

Crowley widened his eyes behind his dark glasses at the endearment. He had noticed it when Aziraphale said it before but thought he had misheard, the hand on his arm had overridden everything else so completely. It wasn’t that different from Aziraphale’s usual endearments, but Crowley couldn’t help but wonder when he’d made the upgrade from dear to dearest. 

“I just lo‒” The word almost came out then. Crowley was barely able to stop it in time, but he did, “Like. I just like... days like this.”

“Hmm. What do you like about them?”

“Weather’s nice, I suppose.”

“The weather?” Aziraphale surveyed the falling leaves and misty air, seeming confused and slightly disappointed. 

It was Crowley’s turn to give Aziraphale’s hand a little squeeze. “The company is nice too.”

Aziraphale leaned in close, curling his body towards Crowley’s until he was flush with his side. He kept the hand holding Crowley’s where it was, but his other came up to toy idly with the demon’s lapel. He looked directly into Crowley’s eyes, finding them even behind the dark glasses.

“The company is my favorite part of every day with you.” Aziraphale whispered like he was sharing a secret. 

The word, which had been throwing a temper tantrum in Crowley’s mouth, stilled, frozen in shock much like the demon himself. For a long moment the only thing he could hear was the erratic thumping of his own heart. The angel was close, closer than Crowley could remember him ever being. He thought he might get lost in endless blue eyes, drown in them for an eternity, but before he could truly fall into them, the eyes in question shifted and looked at his lips instead. 

Crowley had seen Aziraphale look at dessert a hundred times. Had seen the angel tuck into the most scrumptious meals with gusto, but he had never seen him look this hungry. Aziraphale gazed at Crowley’s lips with glassy eyed need. When Crowley’s lips parted slightly in surprise, he was sure he heard a high pitched whimper from the angel as he bit down on his own bottom lip. Aziraphale glanced up to look at Crowley’s eyes for a moment, then returned his attention to his lips and leaned in almost imperceptibly. 

The word swelled suddenly, filling up Crowley’s mouth and threatening to spill over his lips. He didn’t know what to do, so he panicked. He clamped his lips firmly shut to keep the word inside and took a small step backward, extracting his hand from Azirapahle’s as he went. His heart ached to do so, but he couldn’t think with the angel so close. He couldn’t remember the steps to their dance when Aziraphale had so suddenly changed the music. 

The angel gave him a tight smile, clearly crestfallen, but mercifully, he didn’t say anything about it. By silent agreement they resumed their stroll, maintaining an appropriate distance between them. Crowley felt cold, but not from the weather. The word had sunk back down to his chest. He could feel it there, crying like a baby. He couldn’t bring himself to say it now, but he knew it couldn’t stay down there forever. Eventually, he’d have to get around to it. 

* * *

Six months after the world didn’t end, Crowley and Aziraphale returned to the Ritz. They had been to dine in what felt like every restaurant in London by that time, but they hadn’t returned to the Ritz. Aziraphale had called him nearly a month previously with the invitation. 

“The fourteenth? Uh, yeah, angel, sounds great.” He had said, not understanding why his angel sounded nervous asking, it wasn’t like they didn’t go for dinner every week anyway. 

“Oh good!” Aziraphale responded, sounding genuinely relieved. “I’ll just make the reservations. I do hope they still have room!”

“Why wouldn’t they? That’s, what, three weeks from now? And a Thursday?” 

Aziraphale's voice sounded high and nervous again, “Yes, but not any Thursday. I’m sure they’ll have room, but I better call now just in case. I’ll see you tomorrow, dearest. Pip pip!”

He hung up the phone then, leaving a very perplexed Crowley and muttering “Pip pip?” to dead air. 

Crowley was restless the night of their dinner. He couldn’t quite grasp why this night and this dinner were different, but they were. They had to be. Aziraphale had planned this much farther in advance than he had with any of their other dinners. He had referenced it often in the time since, and was clearly looking forward to it. So, even if Crowley didn’t know why tonight was special, he was sure that it was. 

He agonized over his appearance, spending far too long selecting an outfit for someone who’s entire wardrobe consisted primarily of one color. He didn’t stop fiddling with his hair and his cufflinks until he realized he would be late if he dallied any longer. He drove his Bentley to the Aziraphale’s bookshop rather faster and more recklessly than he usually did. He pulled up to the curb exactly as Aziraphale emerged on the front step. 

Aziraphale reached out and held his hand while they drove. Crowley’s pulsed quickened at this, like it always did, but he was more or less used to it. After the first time at the park, hand holding had become a regular part of their relationship. He wasn’t sure why Aziraphale was suddenly interested in holding his hand, but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he relished every second of it. 

“I’m glad we’re doing this.” Aziraphale gave his hand a little squeeze as he said it. 

“Ngh.” Crowley replied by way of agreement

“I know it’s quite different from what we normally do.”

“This is exactly what we normally do, angel.”

Aziraphale gave him a curious look and a shy smile, “Quite.”

Crowley felt like he was missing something, but he didn’t ask what. He just puzzled over it the rest of the way to the Ritz.

The puzzling didn’t stop when they got to the Ritz. As it happened, there were many more things to puzzle over. The place looked different than he remembered, the lights were turned down lower, the centerpieces were different, red roses accompanied by tea lights. The larger tables had been removed and replaced with smaller, more intimate ones. The maitre d’ showed them to one such table and Crowley noticed that the other patrons appeared to all be couples. 

They were seated and Aziraphale was ordering for both of them when Crowley finally glanced at the menu in front of him. At the top in a curly, looping script were the words: St. Valentine’s Day Dinner. Crowley nearly choked on his champagne. 

“Angel?” He asked when the server left. “Is it Valentine’s Day?”

A horrified expression crept slowly across the angel’s face. His eyes widened comically. His mouth popped open in a perfect O, which Crowley was only allowed to appreciate for a moment before a hand was clapped over it. After a long, agonizing moment, Aziraphale nodded. 

“Ngk,” was all Crowley could manage for a while. His mind whirled around all the implications that came with Aziraphale planning a dinner at the Ritz with him on Valentine’s day. The word in his chest, which had been sleeping soundly, popped in eager eye open. Finally his voice caught up with him, “I didn’t realize.”

Aziraphale went from horrified to incredulous almost instantly. “Well, I assumed you did! It’s only been on the same date since the fifth century, at least!”

“How was I to know! I don’t keep track of human holidays!”

“I assumed you would pay attention to this one. The opportunities for temptations are limitless, and I thought surely Hell was behind commercialization of it!”

“That wasn’t me! Humans are perfectly capable of screwing up their own holidays without my help! If it had it my way it would still be  Lupercalia!”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale said, looking thoroughly consternated. “I thought you knew, truly I did. It’s‒ It’s‒”

“It’s what, angel?”

“It’s the entire reason I asked you here tonight?” Aziraphale said it very fast and without looking at Crowley. “I thought it might be nice to come here. On Valentine’s Day. Together.”

Crowley could hardly believe his ears. The word in his chest had fully awoken now and was flying up his throat, doing excited little loop-the-loops along the way. Crowley swallowed hard, trying his best to look cool and relaxed. 

“And you wanted that because…” His question trailed off. He was cautious, hopeful, but not nearly so bold as to ask outright and name the word he’d sent plummeting back into his chest.

“Well, because that’s what people do, isn’t it? When they are…” Aziraphale gave Crowley an anxious glance before looking down at the napkin he was twisting in his hands, “fond of one another.”

“And are we,” the word was in his throat again, but he swallowed it down once more in favor of Azriaphale’s, “fond of one another?”

“I thought we were.” The angel’s eyes searched his face with a lost and pleading look. “I’m certainly fond of you.”

The word was up his throat, into his mouth, and throwing itself against the back of his teeth like a battering ram before the angel had completely finished his thought. The word filled him up, spread through him, warming him like sunshine, filling brain with a blissful buzz, and Crowley almost parted his lips and let the word slip out willingly. But, he stopped himself at the last second. Aziraphale had said  _ fond _ .  _ Fond  _ was a long way from the word between his teeth. He couldn’t follow up  _ fond  _ with that and expect the angel not to run straight out of the restaurant. 

So instead, he said, “I’m fond of you, too.” 

Aziraphale smiled indulgently and placed his hand over Crowley’s. The rest of the dinner was relatively uneventful. They slipped into their easy companionship, discussing books and art and life over every course Aziraphale ordered. Their hands, however, stayed entwined on the table. 

* * *

They held hands out of the Ritz and into the car. Crowley drove them back to the bookshop, driving slowly for the sole benefit of the angel beside him. 

“Thank you again for coming to dinner, my dear.” Aziraphale said when Crowley parked the car. 

“No problem, ang‒” 

The rest of his sentence was caught by Aziraphale lips, softer than Crowley thought possible, pressed against his own. Crowley instinctively leaned back. Aziraphale’s face fell, he looked almost as surprised as Crowley felt, but there was an unmistakable note of disappointment underneath it. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. “I just thought, with dinner, and being fond, and…”

Crowley watched Aziraphale’s mouth move without really hearing the words. His heart was pounding too loudly in his ears to hear anything. 

“Obviously, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to, I just thought…” Aziraphale trailed off again, searching Crowley anxiously, clearly waiting for him to say something.  
Crowley swallowed. “You thought?”

“That we’re‒ that you said you were‒” He looked around the car wildly, eyes darting everywhere except Crowley, he finally landed on the seat between them and finished his sentence, “fond.”

“I’m fond, angel.” Crowley tried to reassure him, though he was unsure what exactly he was reassuring him of. “Very fond.”

“But you don’t want to…” He gestured between them.

Crowley said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what Aziraphale was offering or what he would be allowed to accept. The word in his chest was pounding against his ribs in time with his heart, eradicating all other words from his vocabulary.

“I see.” Aziraphale’s tone was light, but his face was devastated. “That’s fine, of course. Tickety boo. I’ll just go in, then. I’ll call you.”

Aziraphale got out of the car. The word in Crowley’s chest pounded harder, almost painfully, shuddering through him like a desperate sob. The angel paused at the door and looked back at Crowley with a sad little smile and wave before going into the shop. 

It was a full minute before the feeling Crowley hadn’t known he was missing returned to his limbs and the demon realized he was letting the only chance he’d ever had with the angel slip through his shock-numbed fingers. He couldn’t handle it. The word in his chest wouldn’t let him. There was no more waiting, no more getting around to it. He was ready. The word demanded to be acknowledged. 

He didn’t think. He just moved. He launched himself out of the Bentley, up the steps, and tumbled gracelessly through the bookshop doors. Aziraphale was hanging his jacket on the ancient hat rack and stopped dead, arms held out awkwardly, at the sight of Crowley’s entrance. 

“I‒ I‒ love you.” Crowley sputtered without preamble, hurling the word across the room at the angel with undue force. 

Aziraphale looked as though he'd actually been struck by it. His eyes were so wide they were in danger of swallowing his face. He stayed completely still, watching Crowley like a deer watching oncoming traffic. 

“I love you.” Crowley said again, speaking very fast, trying to get all the words out before his nerve left him, “I have for so long and I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know if you did too. How could you? It’s crazy, right? Insane. A demon in love with an angel? It’s completely bonkers, but I am. I’m in love with you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale dropped his coat unceremoniously on the floor and crossed the room in three long strides. He stopped when he was flush against Crowley’s chest. His hands came up to twist in the demon’s flaming hair, and pulled his head down to crush their lips together. 

**[SKIP]**

Crowley was ready for it this time, his lips parted eagerly, and moved seamlessly with Aziraphale’s. He raked his teeth across the angel’s bottom lip and slipped an exploratory tongue into his mouth. He almost discorporated at the hungry growl Aziraphale made as he swirled his tongue around Crowley’s, sucking gently, hands tightening possessively in his hair. 

Crowley put his hands on Aziraphale waist, digging into the velvety fabric of his waistcoat. Aziraphale moaned into his mouth, moved one hand to his hip, grabbed it with bruising strength, and pulled them even closer together. Crowley gasped at the sudden hardness grinding into his groin. Aziraphale sucked on his lower lip and rolled his hips into Crowley again, moving slowly, letting Crowley feel the need radiating through him, and groaning indecently at the friction. Crowley’s own effort responded in kind, growing rigid and uncomfortable in his too-tight pants. 

All the uncertainty and fear he had held onto for centuries vanished as if it never existed, and Crowley surrendered to the heat and the need inside of him. The angel in his arms was pushing his coat from his shoulders, running eager hands down the planes of his chest, and pulling his shirt free of his waistband. Crowley responded with eager hands of his own, undoing the golden buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat and loosening the tartan bow tie. 

Crowley let Aziraphale pull him across the bookshop into the backroom, dispensing each other’s clothes as they went. They collapsed shirtless on the couch, and Aziraphale planted searing kisses along his jaw and down his neck, sucking little bruises into his skin as he went. Crowley let a shameless whine escape his lips when Aziraphale unbuttoned his pants and wrapped a firm hand around his cock. A few stokes later and he was reduced to a whimpering, wanton mess. 

Crowley moved to straddle Aziraphale, desperate to touch him, to elicit more sinful growls, to make his angel as desperate and needy as he was. His hand fumbled with the line of old-fashioned buttons on Aziraphale trousers. The hand on his cock and lips on his jaw made it impossible to concentrate. Finally, he gave an impatient snap and miracled the rest of their clothes away. 

The small gasp in his ear went straight to his cock, already leaking against the angel’s stomach. He snaked a hand between Aziraphale thighs, wanting to hear what other little noises his angel could make. He stroked Aziraphle’s thick member and was rewarded with a debauched moan. 

Aziraphale shifted, thrusting his hips upward so their cocks slid against each other. He wrapped his hand around them both and gave a stroke that sent Crowley tumbling into him, moaning into his shoulder, his belly tightening with spring coiled pleasure. Crowley thrust into Aziraphale’s hand in rhythm to the angel’s stokes, the firm grip of his fist and the slick hardness of his cock driving him wild. He tangled both his hands in the angel’s hair and kissed him, moaning indecent encouragement into his mouth. The tension in his belly spread through the rest of him, tightening every muscle until he couldn’t think or feel anything that wasn’t Aziraphale. 

He looked into the angel’s eyes. They were as wrecked as he felt and full of desperate need. The word rose up inside him again, mingling with all the tension and heat, filling Crowley with a feeling so profound and overwhelming he couldn’t contain it. 

“I love you.” He moaned, his voice utterly and completely destroyed. 

“Crowley, I‒ I’m‒” Aziraphale didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to, the hot liquid that painted Crowley’s chest told him exactly what the angel had been about to say. 

Crowley followed him over the edge, the tension in his body finally reaching breaking point, shuddering waves of pure bliss rolled through him. His cock twitched and spilled over Aziraphale’s hand. A wordless shout was swallowed by Aziraphale claiming his mouth in a greedy kiss. 

**[END SKIP]**

Aziraphale broke the kiss, pulling back to look at Crowley with an expression of such awe and tenderness that Crowley felt suddenly self conscious. Aziraphale cradled his face with one hand, running a thumb over kiss bitten lips and soothing all the doubts and worries as if he could read Crowey’s mind. 

“I love you.” Aziraphale breathed, planting another gentle kiss to Crowley’s lips. “My dearest, I’ve been trying to tell you for so long.”

A calmness spread through Crowley at the declaration, as if a missing piece of his puzzle had finally been placed and now he could be truly whole for the first time. 

“I know.”

It was a crazy thing. An insane thing. That a demon could love an angel so completely and that the angel could love him back just as much. It shouldn’t have worked, shouldn’t have been possible, but the angel in his arms told Crowley that it was. The word in his chest settled, curled up, and purred with contentment at finally being acknowledged and named. It was a little thing. A crazy little thing called Love. 


End file.
